itachi:

you have until december 17 to be horny. after that it’s illegal

Progress Log 5?

I think a lot of people associate depression with being sad all the time. For me, that case isn’t necessarily true. Most of the time I just feel a void. Dull. Sluggish. Little to no motivation. Burnt out. Maybe empty would be a better word for it? Lackluster? If it’s not a void I feel, it’s disparity and hopelessness–not really sadness. I think when I was younger I used to feel sad a lot, because I didn’t understand my feelings or the world at all. Now that I’m older, I still have difficulty understanding my feelings, but at least now I can differentiate between truly being situationally-sad and the symptoms of being clinically depressed.

From my understanding and personal experience, a lack of dopamine and serotonin doesn’t mean you’re always sad. You don’t have to cry all the time to be depressed. Most of the time, I can’t even conjure up the ability to cry anymore. Depression is more than just feeling sad. It’s bouts of irritability. It’s feeling a void and then feeling everything at once. It’s doubts about everyone around you, yourself, and life itself. It’s being unable to sleep–and then sleeping for sixteen hours straight. It’s self harm; both physically and mentally.

Most people have a misconception that if you’re not sobbing, unstably explosive, and breaking yourself to pieces, you’re not depressed. But the presence of sadness doesn’t define depression–it’s the lack of happiness and hope.

I want to believe I know what love is. If I didn’t, how was I able to commit to a long-term relationship? Why did it hurt when it ended? If I didn’t know what love is, I wouldn’t be sensitive to feeling anger when it comes to my family. As dysfunctional as my family can be, deep down I still care for them. I would not give my time and energy to good friends if I didn’t love them. How can I not know what love is when I’ve been giving and receiving love my entire life?

Why do I convince myself that love is not worth it by only focusing on the negatives? Why do I doubt myself and my ability to love, to accept love, to be kind? I push away family, friends, and lovers because of my own insecurities and honestly it’s quite laughable–I end up looking like the asshole. My thoughts keep telling me it’s all fake; no one actually wants to be my friend. No one wants to be there for me unless it’s convenient for them or if it makes themselves feel better. No one wants to care for me or love me. It’s all fake because everyone is always out for their own interests. In the end, I’ll only have myself.

I’ve become selfish to the point where it’s detrimental. It’s a different kind of selfish though, one that doesn’t particularly use others to gain something positive. This kind of selfishness feeds on itself and manifests negatively in the mind; such egoism in the highest degree in which leaves one to doubt everyone around them, and then eventually themselves. Perfectionism is a nitpicker who judges everyone, and ultimately concludes that it’s better to be alone because in the greater scheme of things: you aren’t capable to love someone else. How can you know how to love another, when you’re so selfish and only think of yourself? People don’t love you, they’re only using you. The only thing you have is yourself, you don’t need the people around you. You don’t need anyone. You aren’t good enough for anyone. You’re not even good enough for yourself.

Eventually, I learned that solitude is my best friend. Isolation will always be there for me whether I need it or not. Who would’ve known that being alone in itself can be a poignant form of selfishness? These pessimistic thoughts dominate my ability to accept good things that come my way. I end up pushing others away and retreating back into my own shell. They want me all to myself so I can nitpick more until there’s nothing left of me to fix. Better yet, they want me dead. 

These thoughts love me more than anyone else could.

usbdongle:

having parents that were really angry and petty and abusive when you were young is weird, because it makes part of you grow up to want to be kind, to generate good things, to be a source of peace and wellbeing for others; but it makes another part of you grow up to be quick, and sharp, and spiteful, and that’s always the part that shows itself first in a hard situation, so it’s a struggle between your hateful gut reactions and your wish to not add any more misery to the world. it’s a hard balance, and the people who really, really know me - i know they see that anger flash in my eyes before i quiet it, if i quiet it…i want to overcome years of conditioning, and with gentle, constant force, i know i’ll mellow it. it just takes time.

One minute I think that I have friends. The next minute I think about how I don’t, how I will never, and that I’m unable to have friends. And then everyone gets unbearable to be around. I know it’s all in my head, but sometimes I just think maybe I’m supposed to hate all of you. Good things never last, friends will come and go–and it’s never worth letting my walls down to those who don’t stay. It’s never worth being vulnerable to someone who will turn their backs on you. Maybe it’s because of how I was treated in the past, but I’m suspicious of everyone. Nobody is as good or as nice as they seem to be, and they’ll only be there for you if it’s convenient for them or they take high on your misery. People are shit. I am shit. I can’t convince myself otherwise.

These past few months since our separation was the loneliest time I’ve ever experienced. I always convince myself that no one will be there to support me, that no one truly cares for me, that I’m not worth it. My naive past once thought that you had the power to change me completely, but in the end the voices in my head won and I lost myself. I pushed myself away from you and into a place of solidarity. The friends around me only knew of so much–quickly casting them aside too, I shut myself out to mourn at the memories we shared. My heart ached for you to come back, for me to take back the words I’ve said. But I knew better than that; I convinced myself. There is no point in continuing a relationship when you don’t know where you’re headed or what you’re working towards. For months on end I craved for your touch, your affection and love. I cried out for the things I was unwilling to give to myself. Was it selfish of me to leave you, or am I even more selfish now when I miss you?

I first lost myself. I was constantly questioning who I am, and what I live for. What is the point of life? Where have my ambitions gone? Why don’t I have any dreams or goals? My journey with you was a pleasant one–one with comfort and adaptable dynamics. Seeing you know what you want to do with life made me conflicted. I was happy for you, but I was upset at myself for not being able to do the same. I can’t see myself living five years from now, let alone even a couple of months in future. I was living day-to-day, not really striving for anything. There was nothing wrong with you, and everything that was wrong had to do with me. That’s why I decided to end things, no matter how strong and stable our relationship was. Through this self-inflicted heartache, I’ve isolated myself even further in hopes to find myself again–to walk on a path where I’ll strive for goals.

The second thing I lost was you. I lost your touch, your smell, your words of affirmation. I lost your smiles. I lost your warmth and presence. I did not realise the extent of losing you would result to worse drawbacks of self-hatred and criticism, and one hell of a drinking problem. If I felt lost before losing you, then now I’m unable to see any path at all after losing you. It’s as if I was blinded with everything around me crumbling down–losing you was like losing all my senses. I have to re-build these paths again from remnants that crumbled, alone, and now I see everything is more dull and grey than it was before.

I think I truly understand what it’s like to embody loneliness now.